Yesterdays
by PepsiQueen
Summary: He awoke a vampire, with no knowledge of his past but the surety he’d been human. He would quest to discover his yesterdays only to find that some things are best forgotten.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: All the Nightworld concepts, ideas, names, basically anything you recognize belongs to L.J. Smith. I've just created a few characters to stick into the Nightworld.  
  
A/N: My first L.J. Smith fanfic so all thoughts would be truly, madly appreciated.  
  
Rated PG-13  
  
Yesterdays  
  
Summary: He awoke a vampire, with no knowledge of his past but the surety he'd been human. He would quest to discover his yesterdays only to find that some things are best forgotten.  
  
Prologue  
  
In the darkest hour of the night a boy awoke in the forest. How he'd gotten there, he knew not. And he cared not. He couldn't afford to care, not yet. All he wanted, needed, was to appease the hunger that was coursing through him. A hunger like one he'd never known before. He wasn't starving, it was far worse. There was a gnawing pain in him, not just in his stomach but in the whole of him.  
  
He staggered to his feet and worked his way out of the forest. He'd never been there before but he made it out in record time. If he'd been able to think he would have told himself it was his impeccable sense of direction, of intuition. It was of course neither of those things but he was too consumed in the pain that searing through him to be capable of rational thought anyway.  
  
Some distant part of him might have registered the fact that he could see better than he ever had before, that he was moving with a swiftness and a grace that previously eluded him but about that he was not concerned either.  
  
He turned the corner and saw a sign that made him want to weep with joy. It read, 'Wendy's: open until 2AM.' That sensible distant part of him warned that burgers weren't what he needed, what he was craving. But he paid little heed. As he approached a girl walked out, brown takeout bag in hand. The scents wafting from her were incredible. His teeth . . . sharpened. And, entirely on their own accord, his feet led him to follow her. He followed her out to the deserted parking lot. As she fumbled around her purse, presumably for her keys, he grabbed her. And he fed. And fed. Only when he was sated, when the hunger subsided did he pull away.  
  
He wiped the blood off his mouth, let go of the girl and watched in morbid fascination as she crumpled into a heap on the ground. As he stood there, and regained use of his faculties he was filled with horror. With shame. He had done that to her. He had caused those puncture marks on the girl's neck. He had drank her life's blood until her life was no more. And worst of all was the knowledge that he had never felt more alive in all his life. This he knew with odd certainty, considering that he had just come to the realization that he remembered nothing of himself, of his life before he woke in the forest. He might not know his name but he was pretty damn sure he hadn't been a blood sucking monster. A vampire. Some things really were intuitive. He would just have to find out the rest, the parts that weren't.  
  
He left the girl and walked away. Where he was going, only the fates knew.  
  
***  
  
It was useless to try to slip surreptitiously into the meeting as it only consisted of two other people, her boss Damaris and her best friend and partner in crime (no, not literally), Phoena.  
  
"Sybil, good you're here," Damaris beamed.  
  
Sibyl eyed her suspiciously as she sat next to Phoena. That was it? No complaints, snide remarks? Damaris had a nasty comment for everyone, except that time when . . .  
  
~Oh, Goddess, she's going to send us on a suicide mission~  
  
"As I was just telling Phoena, there's an important assignment that HQ's throwing your way," Damaris continued. "There're some ancient scrolls that have been found, something to do with the final battle. We need someone who can lift them."  
  
~Well, that doesn't sound so bad after all. A little B and E~  
  
"Phoena can fill you in about the rest of the details."  
  
"You want to go to the café while you tell me the rest?" Sibyl asked as they left the meeting.  
  
"Sure." As far as Phoena was concerned the later Sibyl heard the rest, the better. Actually, the best would be if she could be far, far away when Sibyl heard the rest. That snot Damaris had started the meeting early just so she wouldn't have to be the one to tell Sibyl. It wasn't fair.  
  
They walked to the café across the street and sat at their usual corner table. "Sorry I left you alone with the heifer. I overslept."  
  
"So, you've been sleeping well then?" Phoena had many a night woken to the sound of Sibyl's screaming as they'd once been housemates. It was part of the reason Sibyl had decided to move out.  
  
"Yes," and because that was a bald faced lie she qualified it with, "sort of."  
  
But that was a mistake because Phoena gave her the there's no fooling me look and asked, "Which is it, yes or sort of, or no not at all?"  
  
Sibyl sighed. "No, not at all. But it should be better when Owen gets back." She smiled at the thought of her boyfriend, the rest of the reason she'd decided to move out. She never had nightmares when he was there, but he was away on a mission of his own. "Provided of course we're not being sent somewhere." She waited a beat. "Are we being sent somewhere?"  
  
So, it was truth time already. "We are being sent somewhere."  
  
When Sibyl merely raised an eyebrow, Phoena continued, "To California, L.A."  
  
Sibyl rolled her eyes. "Why do they need us all the way over there? They have piles of trained agents available in Vegas. I mean if it's just a lift."  
  
Phoena shook her head, "We don't know where the scrolls are - just who has them. And HQ thinks we, or rather you, have a better chance of getting him to tell you than anyone else."  
  
~Did that mean? Please, she wasn't saying?~  
  
Phoena nodded slowly at the look of horror that was coming Sibyl's face. "It's Thorne Redfern, he has the scrolls."  
  
~So, I was right. It is a suicide mission.~  
  
Thorne Redfern. He was trouble, a mercenary in every sense. He didn't even care about what happened in the Final Battle because he knew he would land on his feet either way. He had helped out Circle Daybreak in the past, but only when it suited him. Start depending on him though and you were bound for disappointment and heartbreak. He changed allegiances the way girls changed outfits before a first date - frequently and without care for the mess accumulated.  
  
"How exactly, am I supposed to have a better chance than anyone else?" she asked.  
  
Phoena shrugged uncomfortably.  
  
"Let me guess. He's going to take one look at me, fall head over heels and blurt out all his secrets."  
  
"They probably figure he can't have any secrets from you."  
  
Because that's how it worked for the rest of them, Sybil thought bitterly. No secrets between soulmates. Having a soulmate was supposed to be like sugar and spice and everything nice. "Oh, he can keep secrets from me. I just can't keep them from him."  
  
Phoena didnn't change expression as she absorbed that little bit of information. ~We're doomed~  
  
A/N: I would love to hear your thoughts. Please review. Comments, criticism, anything at all *begs pitifully* 


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All the Nightworld concepts, ideas, names, basically anything you recognize belongs to L.J. Smith. I've just created a few characters to stick into the Nightworld.  
  
A/N: My first L.J. Smith fanfic so all thoughts would be truly madly appreciated.  
  
And a shout out to my lovely reviewers. Thank you so much for letting me know what you think of the story so far. Sorry to take so long to update but I promise I'll try to be more regular from now on.  
  
Bex Drake: I'm so glad you think it's interesting. I hope you still think so after this chapter! Jenna57: *grins foolishly* Thank you so much. I'm so pleased you like it so far. I hope Thorne meets expectations. He didn't exactly turn out the way I was expecting him to but there may be hope for him yet.  
  
Yesterdays  
  
Rated PG-13  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Thorne put down the phone. It seemed he had yet another meeting with the terminally nervous Marcus Reilmann from the department of prophecies. Marcus was exactly the type of bumbling fool Thorne did not want in his company. But who else could he hire? His reputation hadn't recovered since that little firing spree he went on last year. He was considered temperamental, irrational and more than a bit crazy. In short, not the type of boss anyone wanted to work for.  
  
The knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Enter."  
  
"Sir. I brought the scrolls you requested." The voice was squeaky with fear, the person who'd uttered the words looked tense and miserable.  
  
Thorne observed him but said nothing. Finally when the silence grew to be too much for Marcus he cleared his throat and extended one sweaty fist containing the scrolls in question.  
  
Thorne made no move to take them. In fact, he leaned back in his chair and said softly, "I didn't request to be brought any scrolls."  
  
Marcus flinched as though he'd been yelled at. His ashen face turned whiter, which Thorne noticed with interest. He hadn't thought there was any color left in it to lose.  
  
"I'm sorry sir. I must have misunderstood what you said this morning. I thought you said to bring the millennium scrolls." When Thorne didn't respond, Marcus continued nervously, "The ones about the final battle?"  
  
"Burn them." The voice was low, almost melodious as it gave the inscrutable instruction.  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
Thorne very badly wanted to roll his eyes. "I said to burn them, not to bring them."  
  
Marcus winced. That had been what he'd heard this morning but his mind had told him his ears must surely have been mistaken. After all, what kind of lunatic burned 4000 year old scrolls that contained useful information on the end of the world when said end could occur any day in the very near future? His boss apparently. "Yes sir, sorry sir, right away sir."  
  
Thorne's eyes narrowed into slits as he caught Marcus's errant thoughts. A lunatic, was he? "Never mind, Marcus, I'll take care of it."  
  
Thorne gave a flick of his hand and watched as both the scrolls and the man holding them burned into ash. Who needed blue fire when orange would do?  
  
A lunatic. He shrugged. Well, maybe, but who was Marcus to criticize? Thorne was well rid of him.  
  
He whistled a jaunty tune on his way out the door. His secretary looked up with a smile. She'd known him for 15 of his 19 years and was well able to gauge his moods. That particular tune meant Thorne Redfern had taken charge of an annoying problem and was pleased as punch. His words confirmed her thoughts. "I'm going to lunch, darling. Clean up the little mess in my office?"  
  
"Of course." Lorna waited until he was gone before peeking in the office. It didn't take her long to discern the pile of ash on the floor and she went back to her desk, to pull the dust buster out of the bottom drawer. She hadn't had to use it in a while.  
  
Once Marcus' remains had been sucked out of the carpet she returned to her desk and pulled up the employee database on her computer. "Marcus, Marcus. There you are." She scrolled to his name and then put a check next to the box that read 'fired.' The other boxes read, staked/stabbed, tortured, beheaded, kidnapped, kbsott (killed by someone other than Thorne) and other. It always helped to know what happened to your employees. The ones with no box checked off next to their name were presumably still alive, although it was hard to be sure with an organization as large as this one. Some of them were likely unchecked kbsott. According to the tally at the end of the file the firings were far more numerous than any of the other options. The beheadings had been up there for a while but she'd complained to Thorne that it was too hard to clean up and he'd switched over to mostly firing. Surprisingly nice of him actually.  
  
Not that he couldn't be nice, but there were times when his cruelty was so intense, so immense that it was nearly impossible to imagine him as being something as ordinary, and humane as nice. And of course the people who were fired probably didn't share her views on his niceness. But, they should. There was no doubt they were far better than other people on the list. Than two other people on the list to be exact. The only two people who were marked in the 'other' category. Not even Lorna knew what had happened to them but she would bet her last dollar that it wasn't pleasant. She'd seen the maniacal look in her employer's eyes, the blood that drenched his clothes scarlet, covered his face and matted his hair causing him to look like some unholy monster come from the depths of Hell to scare the toughest of children into behaving and causing even adults to have nightmares. She'd seen all of that as she listened to his bland voice inform her that she needed a new category onto the employee matrix for two sacked employees. Those people? Sibyl Oxalis and Owen Cristal.  
  
A/N: Thanks for reading. Review and be adored forever. All you have to do is hit the button. Gracias. 


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All the Nightworld concepts, ideas, names, basically anything you recognize belongs to L.J. Smith. I've just created a few characters to stick into the Nightworld.  
  
And a shout out to my lovely reviewers. Sorry you had to wait so long for this chapter.  
  
Arrylle Gamere: Thanks so much for your input. I will definitely try to focus more on the individual characters though I'm not so sure I did such a great job of it in this chapter. It should be better when Thorne and Sybil meet and the miscellaneous characters are more out of the way.  
  
amber-rules: *Beams* Thanks! I got a little carried away with the descriptions at the end but I'm glad you liked it. As for Owen, his name means warrior, so who knows maybe he'll have a chance.  
  
Bex Drake: Thank you! I have no idea where it came from. I wanted to do an office scene to give some insight into Thorne's job but he wasn't supposed to be such a bastard. *Sigh*  
  
A/N: My first L.J. Smith fanfic so all thoughts would be truly, madly appreciated.  
  
Rated PG-13  
  
Yesterdays: Chapter 2  
  
He walked. On and on he walked. Stopping in the day to sleep, using the cover of darkness to move forward. He assumed it was forward. It could just as well be backwards, seeing how he had no destination yet. He was trusting his gut to lead him on and it was working so far. He was quite fond of his gut, actually; it was his stomach that was causing the problems.  
  
His stomach that wouldn't be satisfied with the food he'd given it. That was a lesson he'd learned quick enough. It took about a week. One week of trying to sustain himself on human food and discovering it did nothing to soothe the ache that gnawed inside him. Of having that ache grow until he was consumed by it. Until he was no longer a man but an irrational monster willing to do anything possible to slay a thirst he never wanted, never should have had, but somehow did.  
  
He didn't mean to kill that boy. Of course not. It was just that he'd been so thirsty from his restraint. He didn't restrain himself now, but neither did he kill. He told himself it was better this way, less blood. More people, sure, but no killing. That was what he told himself. And if some distant part inside him cried out that his less was still more than what he needed for survival, he didn't listen.  
  
He was a mass of conflicting emotions. Full of guilt for the people who he drank from. Full of loathing towards whoever had made him this way. Full of frustration because he knew not who that was or even who he himself was. Full of sadness and confusion because he had nowhere to go, no clues as to his missing past. With all of that it was only right that he should feel weak, emotionally drained. But, he didn't: he felt strong, and he hated that most of all.  
  
***  
  
Sybil wasn't a nervous flyer. Point of fact, she wasn't a nervous anything. It was part of what made her such a good agent. Well, it *was*. But, ever since Phoena had said those two horrible words, Thorne Redfern, those words she never wanted to hear again, she'd been nothing but nerves. If just hearing his name could make her palms sweaty and her brain panicked then what would happen when she actually saw him?  
  
It wasn't worth thinking about. He wasn't worth thinking about. She told herself there was nothing to worry about. She was fine. She couldn't give him the satisfaction of making her uneasy. She made it a litany. Repeated it to herself over and over for half the plane ride. And actually believed it for oh, about half a second.  
  
Phoena reached over and squeezed her hand. "Relax will you. You're making me tense."  
  
"So sorry. I'll try to hold off on my nervous breakdown until I'm alone. Wouldn't want to make you tense." Sybil all but spat out the last word.  
  
Phoena nodded earnestly. "I'd appreciate it if you would."  
  
Sybil rolled her eyes and started practicing breathing techniques.  
  
Phoena couldn't help but stare. In all the years she'd known the witch she'd never seen Sybil so rattled. If that's what having a soulmate did to someone Phoena was thankful not to have found hers.  
  
She looked out the window and wished she was out there. What was the use of being able to shift into a bird when your boss insisted you use a plane? Not that she wouldn't have taken the plane anyway as Sybil obviously needed moral support, but it was the principle of the matter. That horrid Damaris. Just when Phoena was starting to think that she might not be so bad, they were given *this* mission. Phoena had seen the flash of guilt in Damaris' eyes. Gone so fast, she had almost thought she had imagined it, but it had been there. Damaris had been Sybil's boss for three years. She'd sent Sybil on that first mission to Thorne's. She knew just what had happened, just what could happen. But, she'd given them this mission all the same. And all without informing Phoena of just what had happened.  
  
Oh, sure she'd read Thorne's file. Memorized it. He'd been born a witch, that had been interesting. There was no information about his childhood. Then at the age of 17 he had been turned into a vampire, though no one knew by whom, and that's when the nastiness had begun. He had spent the past two years carving a name for himself on the bodies of those he killed, tortured and otherwise stepped on - although that first year hadn't even been in the same league as the second. That the man was an insane psychopath was quite clear, but he hadn't started out that way. He hadn't even turned that way when he first became a vampire. His file indicated that he was cold, power hungry but methodical, rational, careful even, at least until last year. The same time Sybil had returned from her mission, as a matter of fact. Returned a scared, broken shell of her former self, with Owen in tow. Time, and of course, Owen had healed her wounds, or so Phoena had thought, but looking at Sybil now she wasn't so sure. What had happened between her and Thorne them that changed them so? And worse, what would the bastard do to them now?  
  
A/N: I love to hear your thoughts. Please review. Pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top. 


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: All the Nightworld concepts, ideas, names, basically anything you recognize belongs to L.J. Smith. I've just created a few characters to stick into the Nightworld.  
  
And a shout out to my lovely reviewers. You guys are the best.  
  
amber-rules: *Winces* I put the story on hold for a while because I was at a loss as to how to continue after accidentally turning my hero into a complete loony in the first chapter. Then one day I finally sat my lazy butt down in a chair and, voila the last chapter was born! I am now attempting to be more timely. As for the vampire *grins sheepishly* it's a secret. (In fact it's so secret I don't know myself.) I will say it's not Thorne as the action is happening in the present.  
  
Bex Drake: *Beams* Thank you ever so much! I'm glad you liked Phoena's perspective. She seemed the best way to get some background across without getting bogged down in Sybil or Thorne's emotions. And, frankly Thorne's mind is a scary place. ^_^  
  
A/N: My first L.J. Smith fanfic so all thoughts would be truly, madly appreciated.  
  
Rated PG-13  
  
Yesterdays: Chapter 3  
  
Thorne Redfern dreamt the dreams of the damned. Not the meaningless dreams of most, but recollections of a life that could not, would not be forgotten. His mind was a shroud of darkness penetrated only by words long remembered. And long abhorred.  
  
"The boy has no power." The voice was sad, weary and followed by others that jeered.  
  
"He's vermin."  
  
". . not one of us."  
  
"How could such a thing be born?"  
  
". . . an abomination."  
  
And out of the shadows came two faces: one male, one female. The dark prince and the golden maiden. Midnight, and Twilight. Two opposites, bound by love - for each other, and for the little boy who grasped the woman's hand, cowering away from the malicious voices. ~His parents. ~  
  
They had loved him, he knew that. They had left the Nightworld, all they knew for love of him. A witch boy without a drop of magick in his veins, they had adored him just the same. That was life. This was a dream.  
  
The boy looked up at the woman's face as she tugged her hand free and stepped away from him. He could see it in her face. There was a flicker behind Thorne's closed eyelids as he squeezed his eyes tighter shut, as though that would keep the blow from falling. But of course it couldn't. The woman, his mother, spoke. "Monster," she called him.  
  
Thorne Redfern shot up in his bed. And blinked in confusion. He squinted at the clock. 2:00. He had woken up early this time. He'd been having the same dream every night for five months now, so he pretty much had the routine down pat. His dead, beloved parents would hurl abuse and look so damn disappointed at what he'd become. Then the best and only friend he ever had would chime in. Then, just when things couldn't get any worse they did, and his soulmate would appear.  
  
His soulmate. He sagged against the headboard. That was what had woken him up. Not the dream but the tinge of electricity that was sparking through his system and could only mean one thing. *She* was back. His nightmare was not over, merely replaced by another and he'd much rather have the first because it at least would be gone come morning.  
  
***  
  
It was a little past three in the morning when Sybil and Phoena reached their hotel. Away from the curious ears of others they could finally discuss their mission.  
  
"We need a plan." Sybil stated the obvious. "He's not exactly going to welcome me with open arms."  
  
"He might." Phoena had considered this all through the plane ride and had come up with exactly one very flawed plan. "If you convince him you love him, pretend you can't live without him."  
  
~What if I don't have to pretend?~ The thought was fleeting but so shocking it put Sybil in a mild state of panic. No, that couldn't be right. Of course she'd have to pretend. She didn't love him. The panic eased, only to be replaced with bitterness. No, she didn't love him. Maybe she had once, but that had been an illusion. She'd loved who she'd thought he was. A boy who wore his face but didn't exist. And oh, how it hurt, knowing she'd soon see that face again, but never that boy. She couldn't bear it.  
  
"I – I can't," she whispered.  
  
"Of course you can," Phoena said calmly, thinking Sybil was talking about the plan. "It'll only be for a little while. And then when you get close enough to do the mind melding thing, you can figure out where the scroll is and then we'll be done here."  
  
"If I get that close, he'll see why I'm really here," Sybil pointed out.  
  
Phoena mulled that over. "Can't you throw up a shield or something?"  
  
"And that won't be suspicious?" Sybil asked incredulously. "He's not an idiot as much as we may wish he was."  
  
"Would you really want to be soulmated to an idiot?"  
  
"It could only be an improvement," Sybil muttered. She shook her head and gave Phoena an exasperated look. "Can we focus here? This is only my demise we're talking about."  
  
Phoena winced; she didn't want to think of it that way. "It'll only be your demise if he finds out. The longer you're there the greater the chance of that happening is."  
  
"Which part of that is supposed to make me feel better?" Sybil wondered.  
  
"If you'll let me finish."  
  
Sybil waved a hand. "Sure take your time. I have no pressing engagements."  
  
"If you can convince him you love him, he'll let you closer than he would otherwise." Phoena spoke slowly as though explaining something to a dull witted child. "Then you can use the soulmate link to wander 'round his mind - as long as you keep him out of yours."  
  
"I think you've wandered 'round the bend. How exactly am I supposed to keep him out of my mind?"  
  
"Shield."  
  
"Were you not listening earlier? That'll make him suspicious."  
  
"Better to have him be suspicious than for him to know for sure," Phoena pointed out. "If you can get it out of him in one go then *we* can go and that'll be the end of it."  
  
"That would be the end of us. If I leave right after I've claimed to love him he'll know something's up. What if he moves the scrolls? Then we'd be right back where we started and he'd trust me even less."  
  
"So after you find out, let me know. You stay with him 'till *I* lift the scrolls and then we can go." Phoena sighed at the doubt written all over the witch's face. "It's the only shot we have," she said softly.  
  
Sybil shook her head. "He'll come after us. He won't be able to stand being made a fool of that way."  
  
"Don't you think he would come after us, whatever method we used? We just have to trust that Daybreak will be able to protect us."  
  
Sybil didn't bother to tell her no one could hide from Thorne Redfern when he was on the warpath. ~These better be some amazing scrolls. ~  
  
***  
  
A/N: Reviews are loved, worshipped and cherished. Please let me know what you think. 


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: All the Nightworld concepts, ideas, names, basically anything you recognize belongs to L.J. Smith. I've just created a few characters to stick into the Nightworld.  
  
***  
  
To my reviewers: You guys are fabulous. Sorry this chapter took forever – I'd planned to update before leaving on my 5 week Easter break but unfortunately was very busy with school stuff.  
  
BeautifulAli: Thanks ever so much! I am slowly getting to the point where the two story lines converge – I wasn't sure up until now exactly how they would. There's a small link in this chapter – kudos to you if you can spot it.  
  
Amber-rules: Glad you liked Thorne's past – it was very. . .thorny (sorry – I couldn't resist). But, yeah Thorne's got more issues than Time magazine and as you aptly noticed things do not bode well for our heroine. Sorry about the lack of quick update. *Turns red with shame* Hope you didn't have to re-read the whole story yet again.  
  
Bex Drake : Thanks! I'm so happy you liked the last chapter – it was definitely one of my better ones. Sounds like you have the rest of the story figured out :-) At this point, you are way ahead of me, as I haven't planned that far ahead yet, but hopefully it'll be interesting and not entirely predictable.  
  
xhianglian: *curtsies* Thanks so much! It's so nice to find someone who feels the same way I do about Thorne. Everyone else is worried he's out to get Sybil. Can't imagine how they got that idea *grins sheepishly*  
  
annemarie delacour: *smiles* I am not at all offended – I'm thrilled you're interested in the story. I'm not at all plagued by writer's block – I was out touring Europe, just got back a few days ago. I should warn you that I am plagued by perpetual laziness which does occasionally (read almost always) delay updates.  
  
***  
  
A/N: My first L.J. Smith fanfic so all thoughts would be truly, madly appreciated.  
  
Rated PG-13  
  
Yesterdays: Chapter 3  
  
Lorna looked up from her computer, her practiced smile falling away, replaced by a look of shock when she saw who was there. "Sybil? You're back?" ~You're alive. And you came back. You're crazy.~  
  
Sybil grinned at the expression on Lorna's face, feeling in control for one precious moment. "I'm here to see Thorne."  
  
"OK. Sure. Just let me announce you."  
  
~And ruin my advantage of surprise? Not bloody likely.~ "Not necessary," she said breezily. She headed towards the closed door and went in before Lorna could protest, ignoring the little voice in her head that was telling her to flee while she still could. It was too late for that.  
  
The back of his chair was towards her and he didn't turn around, though with his vampire senses he was sure to have heard her come in. She glared at the chair. So, this was how it was going to be. This wasn't right. She'd prepared herself for his anger, his annoyance, his moodiness, but he gave her none of those things. He gave her nothing.  
  
She slid into one of the chairs positioned in front of his desk and was grateful he didn't turn around, didn't see her start as she heard him speak for the first time in over a year. His voice was a dark purr, a liquid seduction that poured over her. It took her a minute to clear her head and pay attention to the words that dropped from his mouth.  
  
"Make sure they are human - a witch could spoil everything," was the strange remark. Huh, apparently she wasn't the only one nervous about this encounter. At least she hadn't resorted to babbling nonsense. Then she saw the phone cord stretched around his chair and realized that he wasn't talking to her, but into the phone. Must not be too important if he could say it in front of her. ~Unless, he's planning on making sure I can never repeat it.~ Her brain started to panic, and she could no longer hear what he said, no longer hear anything but a giant roaring in her ears. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for something that could be a refuge, finding nothing.  
  
As she glanced back at his chair, she saw that Thorne was no longer on the phone. He had turned around and was watching her, an amused little smile playing at the corner of his lips. As he said nothing, she took the opportunity to study him. He looked the same - that should come as no surprise. Same aristocratic features, same golden hair, only his eyes were different - two purple daggers showing a cruelty that had previously been hidden beneath the surface, or that she'd been too naive to see. They said, 'I know what you are thinking. I know what you are feeling. I can see your soul. And I can tear it into shreds.'  
  
But his mouth said nothing, and his silence played on her nerves, goading her into speaking. "No hello for your long-lost soulmate?"  
  
"Perhaps she hasn't been lost long enough to warrant such a courtesy. Perhaps she should try again in, oh, another 50 years," he suggested helpfully.  
  
Sybil sputtered as she tried to formulate a response. Things were not going at all like she planned. She stared at the annoying, unpredictable creature who was her soulmate. Who was hers. By all rights he should be down on his knees begging her forgiveness, begging her to stay with him. She hadn't really expected that – she'd learned a year ago that things rarely happened the way they should, especially when Thorne Redfern was concerned - but she *had* expected him to be curious. Expected him to wonder about what on earth could bring her back.  
  
"Perhaps she has a reason for coming back so early," Sybil finally said, hoping to entice his curiosity so she could still enact the plan Phoena had concocted.  
  
"Perhaps," he agreed amiably. Then he let out a sigh. "I don't suppose there's any chance you'll just leave now without telling me what that is?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
He made an expansive gesture. "Then by all means, bore me with your tale. Why are you here?"  
  
Sybil tried to keep the gleam of triumph out of her expression. This was it, the moment she'd prepared for, the moment she'd gone over and over in her head ever since she'd been given this assignment from Hell. And if she could pull it off she was quitting Daybreak and moving to Hollywood.  
  
* * *  
  
He was frustrated. 10 days was a long time to go without knowing anything about who you are. Oh, sure he knew what he looked like. He'd memorized his appearance, alien as it first appeared. He knew he had jet black hair, violet eyes, a tall, slightly gaunt figure. Fangs. He knew other things as well – that he liked his coffee black, his women brunette, and his dinner fresh. Every little realization he stored away in his mind and in the dead of the night he pulled them out and examined each one thoroughly, looking for clues, looking for something that would help him figure out the mystery of his own identity. It was like trying to put together a giant puzzle with only a handful of the pieces.  
  
And it was wearying him. So much so, that he'd decided to go to the psychics. Something else he found out about himself. He believed in psychics. Bringing him to his current destination. He didn't believe in all psychics, obviously – he'd already been to plenty of charlatans. But, surely there had to be *one* who was genuine. He glanced at the sign on the door in front of him: 'Madam Zora sees all in her crystal ball,' the sign boasted. ~Great, a psychic poet~  
  
It was almost enough to make him turn back. Almost. But, really, it wasn't like he had places to go, or people to see. With a heavy heart, and a heavy hand he knocked on the door and waited for the sound of pattering feet inside.  
  
A/N: Please don't forget to review! I have a shrine going for all you wonderful people who let me know what you think. 


	6. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: All the Nightworld concepts, ideas, names, basically anything you recognize belongs to L.J. Smith. I've just created a few characters to stick into the Nightworld.  
  
To my two favourite reviewers: You guys are the best. Sorry this chapter wasn't exactly timely but considering how long it usually takes me I think three weeks is pretty good.  
  
Bex Drake : grins I didn't mean to imply you should stop predicting what's going to happen - only that I can't verify it one way or another. (I'm not good with the cryptic author stuff – if I knew where this story was going I probably would have blurted it all out by now) And it's interesting to hear what other people think might be coming. As for the Thorne fanclub – feel free to start one Can I be VP?   
  
Amber-rules: looks back at last chapter Does that really count as a cliff hanger? Because I've done a mental plot overhaul since the last chapter and now have even less of a clue than before as to what's going on with the memory-less vampire so I chose not to address it in this chapter. looks sheepish And I know it wasn't exactly a quick update, but I'll get there one day :-)  
  
A/N: My first L.J. Smith fanfic so all thoughts would be truly, madly appreciated.

Rated PG-13

Yesterdays: Chapter 5  
  
Sybil relaxed for the first time since she stepped into the office. This part she could handle. Hours of going over the words she was about to say had left them etched in her brain. She looked straight into those purple eyes and told a small piece of the truth. "I've been with Circle Daybreak." She could afford to give him that, as she suspected he already knew. It was her best shot – tell enough truths to cover the lie. It was her only shot.  
  
He studied her for a minute before asking, "For how long?"  
  
A fraction of a hesitation before the witch answered. Anyone else would have missed it. But, then he wasn't anyone else. "Since I left here."  
  
"But I couldn't stay there any longer. I couldn't bear it." Sybil got up and paced, raking a hand through her hair. She let the emotion colour her voice as she told him another truth, "They all have soulmates. And they're so happy together. So, blissfully, nauseatingly happy. And . . . I miss that." Was it her imagination or were his eyes softening a bit?  
  
She pressed on. "We had that once too, remember?" He didn't answer so she asked again, "Remember?"  
  
"Yes." That was it. One syllable. Nothing in his voice to let her know what he was thinking. She envied him his control, and hated him for it. She was pouring her soul into his hands - the least he could do was acknowledge it.  
  
"We could have that again."  
  
"Could we?" The words were tinged with a dark amusement she didn't understand.  
  
"Of course," she murmered. She came to a standstill in front of his desk. "I forgive you and. . ."  
  
His laughter cut through her sentence and put her on edge. There was very little humour in it.  
  
"You forgive me?" Thorne's eyes flashed ten shades of violent. "You're the one that left."  
  
She stared at him in shock. He had ripped her to shreds. Hand delivered her to the monsters. Of course she'd left! Surely he didn't expect an apology.  
  
But he carried on, blandly, oblivious to her growing anger. "Not that it was a great loss, mind you, but did you have to take Owen with you? I'm having a devil of a time replacing him. Have to do all the work myself now." He shook his head sadly, "Can't find anyone trustworthy these days."  
  
"That's rich, coming from you." She tried to stop herself, but could no more have stopped the tide. "Do you even know what the word trustworthy means?"  
  
"Of course I do," the made vampire said scornfully. "It means not running off with your soulmate's cousin, for starters."  
  
Sybil glared at him as she all but shrieked, "Or how about not giving your soulmate to Hunter Redfern to be tortured?"  
  
His mouth turned up in amusement. "Forgiven me have you?"  
  
And she realized with a sinking feeling that he'd once again manoeuvred her right where he wanted.  
  
"Why are you really here?"  
  
  
  
Damaris was in a meeting, chewing out one of her minions, er, employees when Owen stormed in. She shrank back into her seat as 200 pounds of muscle stalked towards her but the witch just slammed a torn sheet of paper down on her desk. "Care to explain this?" His voice was silky soft, far more frightening than had he been shouting.  
  
Damaris glanced down at the note and blanched. She couldn't look at Owen – his rage surrounded him, she could smell it, filling the room with a sharp pungent odour. She squinted past him and realized her minion had scuttled away. Disloyal git.  
  
"Owen," she spoke softly, but that only served to incense him further, breaking his tenuous hold on control.  
  
"How could you?" the witch glowered. "Damn it Damaris, I know you don't like her, but to send her off to be killed. . ."  
  
She glared back at him. "This has nothing to do with that." Privately, she was surprised he'd noticed - she hadn't thought anyone knew of her dislike for the witch girl. "I didn't give the order – it came straight from the top."  
  
Owen shook his head in denial. "No," he said softly. "Thierry would never do something so stupid."  
  
But I would? Damaris struggled not to take offence, and lost. All she said was, "You know how they feel about soulmates."  
  
The witch gave a bitter laugh. "I know more than that. I know how Thorne feels about his soulmate." He shook his head. "They should have sent me. They should have waited until I got back."  
  
Damaris stared at him, her mind working furiously. She really ought to have another look through his file. But, first she needed him to leave. "I'll let you know when we hear from them."  
  
He took the hint and headed out. She waited until he reached the door before calling out.  
  
"Hey, Owen - welcome back."  
  
  
  
A/N: Please don't forget to review! I have a shrine going for all you wonderful people who let me know what you think. 


	7. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: All the Nightworld concepts, ideas, names, basically anything you recognize belongs to L.J. Smith. I've just created a few characters to stick into the Nightworld.  
  
  
  
And a huge shout-out to my reviewers: You guys rock. And look, I got a chapter out relatively on time. How shocked are you?

annemarie delacour: Everyone else is being sensible and studying, as I should be doing. But I've found writing to be a great stress relief which is why I am posting this in spite of the fact my next exam is on Tuesday.

As for Thorne, I could write an essay on your question, but that's because I know all kinds of things about him that haven't been written yet. I guess you'll just have to decide for yourself how big of a bastard he really is. Just remember that a lot of what you're reading about him is coming from Sybil's point of view and she's rather biased. Not without reason, as you'll see more of in this chapter, but still.

KazeNoKen: I do try to hook readers. Nice to know I was successful :-) I'm glad you like my writing style. I like to think it's improving – there are parts of this story that make me positively cringe when I go back and re-read them. And this part is longer - I hear and I obey!

Bex Drake : curtsies I'm glad you liked it. That's an interesting point about Owen's personality. I hadn't done it intentionally but it fits with his and Thorne's background. Hmm, I don't think he would be overly shocked by the comparison but Sybil would definitely deny any similarities between her boyfriend and her soulmate.

Ameena: No worries there. I plan to keep writing for a while – I've found it's strangely therapeutic and keeps me sane, which is good because I can't afford to shell out for a shrink. So you look kind of like Sybil then. I think she has brown hair and brown eyes. Huh. That's probably something I should know.

  
  
A/N: My first L.J. Smith fanfic so all thoughts would be truly, madly appreciated.  
  
Rated PG-13  
  
Yesterdays: Chapter 6

He was sloshed. The sheer amount of alcohol it had taken him to reach such a state would have poisoned at least 5 humans. But, he had persevered, and it was well worth it. Worth however much he had run up on his tab. Worth the headache he'd have in the morning. Because, for now, he could escape his thoughts. He mind was in a drunken haze; fog obscuring the disappointments of the past week. It was. . .pleasant. Yes, definitely pleasant. More so than anything else he could remember. Of course that wasn't saying much as there was rather a lot he couldn't remember.

He frowned at that last, intrusive thought and reached for his vodka, determined to block out everything else. He didn't want to think. He refused to do so. Tonight he was going to sing and dance and be happy. Be happy, damn it.

He glared at the brooding boy in the stool beside him. What right did that boy have to brood? Had he woken up in the forest one night with no memories only to discover that he was a blood sucking monster? Well? Had he? The vampire was actually drunk enough to ask, but he didn't get the chance.

The boy had turned to stare at him, his face a strange mixture of awe and disgust. "How much did you drink?" There was admiration in his voice as he added, "I didn't even know vampires could get drunk."

He stared back at the boy, scared to blink for fear that he would disappear. Scared this was just a drunken hallucination. "You know about vampires," he said softly.

The boy rolled his golden eyes. "I'm a Cristal."

The vampire frowned. "What does your surname have to do with vampires?"

Amusement curled around the boy's mouth like smoke. "You must be insanely drunk." He thrust forward his hand. The vampire glanced at it uncertainly. It was an ordinary enough hand, adorned with a ring of some kind of black flower.

When the vampire said nothing, the boy shook his head and muttered something that sounded like, "And they say shifters are the stupid ones." More loudly, he added, "I'm a witch."

"A witch." The vampire shook his head, regretting all the alcohol he'd consumed. His first break and he probably wouldn't even remember it in the morning.

"Not just any witch," the boy was continuing. "A Cristal. Second only to the Harmans. You need to brush up on your Nightworld facts."

"Nightworld," the vampire tested the word out slowly.

The witch boy heaved a sigh. "You sure you don't have some shifter blood? I'm thinking parrot."

The vampire let the insult pass. The boy could say whatever he wanted as long as he helped.

To that end the vampire put on the most menacing expression he could and ordered the Cristal, "You will tell me about the Nightworld."

The boy stared at him for a second and the vampire worried that perhaps he'd overdone it. He didn't want to scare the witch off. He tried to rearrange his expression into something less intimidating but stopped as the boy burst out laughing.

When the whooping subsided, the vampire re-phrased the strange insult from before, "You sure you don't have some shifter blood? I'm thinking hyena."

The witch shook his head and gave another little snort of amusement.

The vampire glared at him.

"Sorry. Sorry. It's just I've never heard. . .Are you sure your sire didn't say anything to you about the Nightworld? I mean it's a pretty big thing to forget."

Sire? "I don't have a sire."

The boy gave him a skeptical look. "You saying you're lamia?"

Lamia? The vampire sighed, clearly this boy would not help him until he knew the full story. But, the little voice in his head had made a re-appearance and was urging him to be cautious. You've been going to see so-called psychics for days and then you go to a bar and a witch just happens to sit down next to you? How coincidental is that? The vampire hesitated a minute, eying the boy who was rapidly losing interest in the exchange and turning back to his drink. No, this was his chance. He'd take it and deal with the consequences. But, oh, how annoying it was to put his salvation in the hands of this exasperating overly pretty witch boy.

Surprisingly the boy remained silent during his tale, his visage finally turned serious.

After it was done, the vampire waited for the witch's pronouncement. He tried not to hope but it was a futile endeavor.

And thankfully, unnecessary. "I know some people who may be able to help," the boy said slowly. "But first, you should know about the Nightworld."

There was no time to think. She had to respond fast or she was toast, and not the nice, crispy toast you have with breakfast but the burnt and charred variety. It shouldn't have been difficult. One didn't get to be a Daybreak agent without being able to think on her feet, without being able to improvise in any situation. But then, this wasn't a situation. This was Thorne. This was Hell. And the look on his face suggested that if she wanted to get out limbs intact, she'd better start talking. Now.

Seeing how she'd gotten rather fond of her limbs - she'd had them for 18 years after all- she talked. "Alright so I'm not quite over the whole being locked in a cellar with a bunch of hungry rats thing, but I am trying." She couldn't allow herself to dwell on those words. To remember everything that had been done to her. Because of him. Always because of him. Hunter had tried but in the end it had been Thorne who shattered her soul.

She had been so sure he would feel her agony through their link. Goddess, at first she had tried to shield him from it. They could do what they wanted to her, but she'd be damned before she let anyone hurt him. How the fates must have laughed at her, at the foolish girl she had been. Her power dwindled, her body turned nothing but a mass of blood and pain, and still she had remained hopeful. Why not? He would save her - that's what soulmates did after all. Because he loved her, as she loved him. It was what had kept her sane through weeks of torture. His name was her prayer.

And then one day, two weeks in she had learned the truth. Though he knew it not, it was the most powerful blow Hunter Redfern ever delivered. Before depositing her back in her icy cell he had looked at her, complained Thorne had tricked him and gotten the better trade. He had stayed a minute, watching her face, anticipation on his own - waiting to see her reaction to her soulmate's betrayal. He had left disappointed. For, she had thought, surely not. And she had reached out, grasped that silver cord and tugged with all her might. There had been no answer, only a vast emptiness that steeped into her soul.

If Owen hadn't rescued her she would have died there. Worse still, was the knowledge she wouldn't have cared. Why live on when her soul was already buried? And yet, when she saw Owen she had allowed herself to dream for one fraction of a second. Owen was Thorne's cousin, his best friend; if he was there then surely it was only because Thorne hadn't been able to come himself. And she had worried that he was hurt, in pain, sick, anything. Surely something. The pity in Owen's eyes before he pretended not to hear buried her anew.

And still. . . Still, she had gone to him. Fool that she was, she had needed to hear it from his own lips before she could truly believe. He wasn't sick. He wasn't dying. He simply hadn't cared. What had ever made her think otherwise? With each careless word he had torn out another piece of her heart until it lay in splintered shards before his feet.

Try to forgive him for that? Never.

A/N: Please don't forget to review and you'll have my eternal adoration.


	8. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: All the Nightworld concepts, ideas, names, basically anything you recognize belongs to L.J. Smith. I've just created a few characters to stick into the Nightworld.

* * *

Hey all! This is just a little post to let you know I'm still alive, and perhaps more importantly, still writing. I know I've been horrible with the updating but my life's been surprisingly hectic. I know you've heard it before, but, I'll try to do better next time, really.  
  
annemarie delacour: I hate unfinished stories, so I definitely intend to continue mine. It's just that I get a wee bit occupied in other things and writing gets pushed aside, but I'm trying to fix that. Here's to regular updates, and by the end all your questions will hopefully be answered.  
  
amber-rules: Hooray! I almost made you cry and not because it sucks! 'Update' is a word that makes me cringe with guilt, because I know I don't do it nearly often enough. This time I even had to go back and skim through it all to figure out what's happened. But the story goes on! Slowly (ok, extremely slowly), but surely. 

* * *

A/N: My first L.J. Smith fanfic so all thoughts would be truly, madly appreciated.  
  
Rated PG-13  
  
Yesterdays: Chapter 7  
  
She didn't have to try to forgive him, Sibyl reminded herself. She just had to convince him that she would. "Thorne, please. We can make it work."  
  
He appeared to be thinking it over, coming to some kind of a decision, when the phone rang. Damn it! She'd almost had him, she knew it. With a slight shake of his head he answered the phone. "Redfern here."  
  
Sibyl struggled to put aside all the hatred that name evoked. She couldn't think about that now. She had to stay clear headed. Later, when this was over she could let the rage boil through her, but not now. Now she had to focus, search for clues that would help her understand and deceive the deceiver.  
  
His voice was the calm lull of the sea, if the sea were coated with ice. "I gave you one instruction. One, very basic instruction."  
  
How happy she was, not to be on the other side of that phone. She felt a stab of pity for the poor soul who was as she caught a murmur of frenzied babble coming through. Then she reminded herself that it was likely one of Thorne's employees, and thereby a monster undeserving of her pity.  
  
"So, kill him," was Thorne's easy reply when the babbling ended. No, best she save her pity for herself. After all, she was the one with a soulmate who ordered deaths the way most people ordered takeout. If he ever found out about this mission there'd be pieces of her topping his pizza. Sibyl struggled to keep her expression serene. No way was she going to let that happen. This mission had to go smoothly. She hadn't been as prepared as she'd thought. She'd let him goad her, gave him the upper hand, but not anymore - too much was depending on this.  
  
Thorne hung up the phone but rather than resume their conversation he turned to the papers on his desk. The sudden, unexpected quiet strained her senses, heightening her awareness of him, slowly driving her mad as the minutes ticked by. Finally, when she could stand it no more, she spoke his name. "Thorne."  
  
He looked up, and sounded vaguely startled as he asked, "You're still here?"  
  
Sibyl glared at him, forgetting her vow to stay in control, wanting only to pummel him for being able to ignore her. "We have to talk," she bit out.  
  
The look on his face bespoke annoyance. "I have a business to run."  
  
"You own the place. Delegate." When he appeared to be about to protest she gave him a throaty reminder, designed to take him back to steamy days long past. "It wouldn't be the first time."  
  
"True, but, I learn from my mistakes."  
  
Her cheeks burned at that and she started to rise. Mission or no, there were only so many insults a girl could take. "I see," she said, barely recognizing the horrible voice that came out as her own.  
  
"You don't."  
  
Sibyl looked back at him and for a split second she saw something foreign in his eyes that convinced her to sit back down.  
  
"I can't delegate," he explained, "there's no one I trust."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Again with the trust thing. You've gotten positively paranoid since I saw you last." And then, because she couldn't resist, "remnants of a guilty conscience, perchance?"  
  
"I think you've mistaken me for someone who cares," Thorne drawled out.  
  
"Never that," she said with complete sincerity. "I too learn from my mistakes."  
  
"So why are you here, again?"  
  
"Because you're my soulmate. My other half." She gave him a musing smile. "Kind of like having an evil twin."  
  
"Hey!" he protested. "I'm much too attractive to be your twin."  
  
She carried on as though he hadn't spoken, "We're bound together, like it or not."  
  
"Not," he grumbled. "Definitely, not."  
  
"I agree," Sibyl said sweetly, "but it doesn't change anything."  
  
Thorne heaved a sigh, as though this was all too annoying for words. After a couple of minutes passed, she worried he was going to return to his paperwork as before but finally he said, "You're serious about this?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
He shoved a hand through his golden hair. "I really do have to get back to work." She started to protest but he continued, "Dinner, tonight. Seven o' clock. I'll pick you up."

* * *

Owen was in the middle of explaining the second rule of the Nightworld when his mobile rang. Under normal circumstances that would be, well, a normal circumstance. However, Owen's phone never rang in normal circumstances. There were only two people alive who had his number, and neither one of them were people he wanted calling.  
  
So, he excused himself from the table and searched for a more private corner, not noticing the dismay on the vampire's face as he worried that Owen might not return.  
  
The witch found a secluded table in one corner of the room and flipped open his phone.  
  
"You're girlfriend's here," was all the greeting he was given.  
  
Owen was torn between relief that the call was nothing urgent and fear for Sybil. He tried to keep both out of his voice. "Called to brag?"  
  
"Please. As though she's worth bragging about. No, I just thought I'd give you a piece of advice."  
  
Owen gave a snort of disbelief. "Advice? How charitable of you. You feeling alright there, cuz?"  
  
"You need to keep her on a tighter leash."  
  
Owen scowled. Thorne would say something like that. "She's not a dog."  
  
"I beg to differ."  
  
"Beg all you like – it doesn't change facts."  
  
Thorne laughed, rather than take offense as Owen had hoped. "Now, now, play nice or I won't tell you why I called."  
  
"I couldn't possibly be so lucky," the witch grumbled.  
  
"See, now you're making me not want to tell you."  
  
Owen gave a sigh. This was the conversation he'd switched tables to have? "You're wasting my minutes. Do you know how much Verizon charges these days?"  
  
"Circle Daybreak not paying you well?"  
  
Owen frowned. Not because it was true (although it was) but the fact that Thorne knew about Daybreak. He didn't know why he was surprised. Of course Thorne would know. Thorne knew everything. Thorne had everything. It was almost enough to make a man bitter, that.  
  
But the effect was discharged when Thorne added, "You know you always have a job here." The words were said lightly but Owen knew he meant them. And was touched in spite of himself.  
  
But that wasn't information he planned on sharing with his cousin. "Thanks. Now what do you want?"  
  
"How rude." Owen couldn't help but smile at the pretend sniff that came across the line. "And when I'm calling to save your pathetic ass." Thorne's voice became suddenly serious as he added, "You might want to watch your back. There are some assassins after you. Courtesy of your new friend."  
  
"Nameless? That's ridiculous," Owen scoffed. "I just met the man. It usually takes a few hours before someone starts sending people to kill me."  
  
"Oh, he's not the one who ordered the hit. I had that pleasure."  
  
Owen made a face at the plant next to him. "So call it off."  
  
"I can't." Owen raised an eyebrow. Thorne Redfern admitting he couldn't do something? Where was the tape recorder when you needed it? "The boy wasn't supposed to talk to any witches," Thorne continued. "The hit was ordered before I knew you were the witch he talked to. You would be the witch he talked to," Thorne muttered. "Didn't Aunt Sarah teach you not to talk to strangers? Anyway, I can't call it off now. Wouldn't do to show favoritism."  
  
Owen rolled his eyes. Politics. "That explains the warning," he said dryly.  
  
"I pay my debts. And this one was long outstanding."  
  
Owen shook his head at his cousin's strange code of honor understanding instantly the debt Thorne was referring to. "You don't owe me anything. And incidentally," he couldn't help but add, "if you did, this would be a really sucky way to pay me back. Informing me that you've told someone to kill me? Are you even going to tell me who's after me? Or what the deal is with Nameless?"

* * *

A/N: Reviews are better than ice cream (which is saying a lot cuz it's really hot here), so please review, and I'll be forever grateful.  



	9. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: All the Nightworld concepts, ideas, names, basically anything you recognize belongs to L.J. Smith. I've just created a few characters to stick into the Nightworld.

  
  
A/N: My first L.J. Smith fanfic so all thoughts would be truly, madly appreciated.  
  
Rated PG-13  
  
Yesterdays: Chapter 8

"It's nothing that concerns you." Thorne tried to keep the bitterness from his voice. The vampire could not reveal his master plan – Owen would only try to stop him and that was intolerable. Thorne's oldest and closest friend, yet he could not trust him.

Owen spoke coolly, "My concerns are widespread. One of them includes my new friend."

The bait was just dangling there, waiting for Thorne to pounce. He didn't. What was the use of going into the past when the present was so untenable? And of course he couldn't let the witch see that it mattered to him who his friends were.

But if that were true Thorne wouldn't be on the phone with Owen now. Of course it was just like Owen to buddy up with the one person whose future he intended to destroy.

Owen had always championed those who the world would have broken. How well Thorne remembered the days when his cousin had been his champion, his saviour. And he wondered, if he knew what I was intending, not only to his new friend but to the world would he regret it? Would he wish that I had stayed that snivelling little boy that I had been?

Thorne pushed those thoughts out of his head and tried to focus on the conversation. "Make new friends," he suggested. "This one isn't what he seems."

"I think I can decide that for myself," Owen countered.

But you can't, Thorne thought. Even with all that you have seen, the years you spent as my right hand even with your cutting sarcasm and flashes of temper, you are too good, too naive. You think better of people than you should, and when you finally see the cruelties in front of you, you are shocked, devastated. Would you believe that I would try to save you from that?

The vampire thought back on Owen's face, the day it had all ended.

_He had flung the door open, run in and paused in front of Thorne, panting for breath. "Sybil! He's taken her. Hunter. Hunter Redfern's taken her." _

_"Poor man," the vampire boy had sighed. "He has no idea what he's taken on."_

_Owen had scowled then, upset that the boy would joke, that he did not take this threat seriously. "Oh, sure," he'd said "She's such trouble I bet you're just going to let him have her." _

_The vampire had said nothing. He would not deny the truth. _

_And Owen had stared at him, waiting for the laugh, the issue out some kind of rescue plan. Realization dawned bright and ugly in his eyes as he realized that would never happen. "You're just going to let him have her," he whispered. Same words, and yet so different. The sheer horror on his face, as though it were him who had been betrayed. And then for the first time in all their lives Owen had turned his back on his cousin. _

No, he wouldn't believe. But Thorne could not let that sway my course. "Owen, this boy is more than you will ever know. If you value your life, walk away now."

"You have to give me a better reason than that Thorne."

"What better reason than life cousin?"

"How about loyalty, justice, friendship?" came the all too serious reply.

Thorne rolled his eyes. "You've been at Daybreak too long Owen. Any minute now you'll be holding hands with the others and dancing around the fire."

"How can you be sure I'm not already?"

The vampire ignored him, his mind caught on a certain brown haired Daybreaker who was all the reason Owen needed. "What about Sybil?"

Glaciers dripped from his voice as the boy witch spoke, "What about her?"

"Oh, nothing," Thorne answered, knowing he sounded annoyingly blasé. "Just interesting she's here now. Said she wanted to give us another shot, you know. What with the soulmate principle and all that." Silence on the other end so he kept going, "You know how I feel about that. I'll take good care of her."

Thorne raised his eyebrows at the other boy's snort. "Point taken," Owen conceded. "I'll make new friends. It's not like I haven't done it before," his muttering cut clearly across the line.

Thorne hung up the phone, and in the sudden silence of the room the hum of the computer sounded impossibly loud.

He was bothered by the solitude. Being alone was nothing new, but the loneliness that had crept upon him, swift and strong, was. What right did he have to be lonely when he had willingly pushed everyone away? He shook his head. Was it this sudden re-emergence of the past making him so pensive?

Thorne closed his eyes for two steady beats. When he re-opened them they were the same impenetrable violet chips that his staff knew so well. Good. He could not afford to brood when the pieces were finally falling into place.

A/N: I know I don't deserve it, but review anyway.


	10. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: All the Nightworld concepts, ideas, names, basically anything you recognize belongs to L.J. Smith. I've just created a few characters to stick into the Nightworld. 

A/N: My first L.J. Smith fanfic so all thoughts would be truly, madly appreciated.

Yesterdays

Rated PG-13

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Chapter 9

Sibyl walked into the hotel room and gave a sigh of relief. She'd let herself be tailed back, not wanting to give Thorne any reason to be suspicious by shaking it off. She was going to be as non-suspect as possible until she left L.A. scrolls in hand.

"It's the Girl-Who-Lived! How'd it go with You-Know-How?" Her partner was sitting in front of the television, watching one of her ridiculous soap operas.

Sibyl shook her head as she pondered the question. How had it gone? Not as planned, not as expected and yet somehow still alright. They'd made a date for tonight, on his suggestion, giving her opportunity to complete her mission. But when opportunity meant time spent with Thorne, well, that certainly banished any desire to rejoice.

"Ask me that after tonight's date. Assuming I'm still alive," she added melodramatically.

Phoena let out a whoop, focusing on the date issue rather than Sibyl's possible death. "I knew you could do it."

"I haven't done anything yet," Sibyl pointed out.

"You got him to agree to spend time with you. That's the first step."

Sibyl acquiesced with a slight nod. This morning, unpleasant and difficult as it was, had ended in her favor. In Circle Daybreak's favor. The first step was accomplished. But, oh, so many more were left. And should one of those go in the wrong direction, there would be no second chances.

Phoena's voice broke into her maudlin thoughts. ". . . wear tonight?"

"What was that?"

Impatience and annoyance flashed across the shifter's face. "I asked what you're going to wear tonight."

Sibyl gave a shrug. What kind of question was that anyway? She had other, more important things to worry about than her attire. Like the fact that the other half of her soul was a black and shriveled mass hiding behind a beautifully chiseled façade.

But Phoena didn't understand or didn't care for she kept harping away until Sybil agreed to a shopping trip.

It was something to keep her occupied, to keep her from brooding about the impending date. Trying to keep up with Phoena in a mall was better than any exercise in the gym. She was dragged from store to store forced to try on dress after skirt after shoes until she was ready to hail Phoena queen of the universe in exchange for a little respite.

And she was a trained Daybreak agent, supposedly immune to torture. The witch shuddered to think what going shopping with Phoena could do to a regular human. It could be lethal!

As Sybil mechanically went through the motions of readying herself for her date she tried to cheer herself with the thought that it was over and the real torture would not begin for another half hour. She wasn't much cheered.

Her hand slowly, steadily applied eyeliner while her mind whirled at a faster pace. She thought of the man she loved. The man she lost. The man she loathed. How unlucky for her that he was one and the same with the man she'd see tonight.

And that was the kind of thinking that made her life a mess. Because Thorne knew it. He was too intuitive, too smart not to realize that she considered him her personal demon, her punishment for some heinous crime committed in another world. She doubted that he even needed the soulmate link to tell him that every minute spent with him was pure agony. Just as she didn't need the soulmate link to tell her that he relished in it. Perhaps that was the true reason for tonight's date. Not a new beginning at all but a chance to needle her with reminders of the past. As though that was even necessary. As though her life hadn't been forever stained by his careless cruelty. As though every moment of every day, no matter how glorious, wasn't shadowed by her remembrance.

And how unfair was that to Owen? Yes, she loved him. How could she not? He had saved her life countless times. People thought saving a life was something dramatic, and the time he rescued her from Hunter certainly was. But there were other things, less dangerous, perhaps but equally precious, and equally vital. A hug when she was cranky, a soothing voice to pull her out of nightmares, a person who cared just because. Owen had given her that. He'd been the one who caught her when she fell, or more accurately when Thorne gave her that shove. Her anchor when the world had gone adrift. Yes, she loved him for that. Always would. But even he couldn't replace the gaping whole in her heart. And she knew there was nothing he could do that would leave equal mark. She didn't love him that much.

How could she give Owen all her heart when most of it had already been taken (shredded, and destroyed, yes, but first taken) by his cousin? She had thought she loved Owen enough for it to work, but seeing Thorne again made her realize that she only had crumbs of herself left to give. She cared about Owen too much to want that for him. He needed someone who could love him the way he deserved.

He needed

And she started to think a soulmate, but her mind balked as memories stirred. She wouldn't wish that on anyone. He just needed more. More than she could ever give anyone.

When this assignment was over, (with the large and not necessarily likely assumption that she was still alive) she would leave Daybreak to while away the rest of her life on some secluded beach somewhere.

She would loll about on the sand, sunbathe and swim, drink pretty drinks with little umbrellas in them, flirt with hot guys. Five minutes later, as Sybil was fantasizing about the number of sarongs she would have, a knock on the door brought her abruptly (and rather lamentably) back to the present.

And it was showtime.

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A/N: If anyone's made it this far, I'd love to know what you think. Please take a couple seconds to review. Thanks!! 


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